


the celerity of refraction

by cipherstranger



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Intrusive Thoughts, Post-Canon, mentions of selfharm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6723565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cipherstranger/pseuds/cipherstranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>Michael waits for Vector to tie up the shoes he'd found placed next to Thomas' boots on the rack. "You'll find your way all right, Shingetsu?"</i>
    <br/>
    <i>"Yeah, I can get hom—" Vector thinks— "I can get back fine."</i>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote>(After the war, Astral leaves Vector with more than he bargained for.)
            </blockquote>





	the celerity of refraction

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this art piece](http://hyakunana.tumblr.com/post/111491287123/look-mihael-all-the-opportunities-looking-at). The line "One day, everything the sun touches will be ours” is also from there. For the purposes of this fic IV goes to the highschool part of Heartland Academy on the same campus as the middle school

 

 

Summer descends on Heartland City like a fog, humid and hot. At the Academy the students pull open every window, fill bottles with ice water, fold their sleeves higher to escape the heat. But Vector knows that the air turns cold when he enters a room, the atmosphere changes, the eyes of others on him like they're waiting for something to happen.

At the Kamishiro house after school, Vector turns the key in the lock and opens the door. The second and third years end class earlier on Tuesdays, so the others are already home. Nasch takes one look at Vector, then gets up and heads to his room.

_Your move._

"Don't mind him," Merag says, but her voice is strained. "Can I get you anything—?"

"No, that's fine," Vector says, and heads upstairs too.

 

* * *

  

_Shingetsu._

The other students in his class are happy to see 'Shingetsu Rei', the boy who doesn't do his homework and is late to every class and who always smiles embarrassedly when he gets reprimanded, and they don't hide the disappointment in their faces when he doesn't react the way they want.

By third period the classroom is sweltering enough that it's hard to breathe for how thick the air is, and Vector lets his mind wander, thinks about high places and warships sailling over open seas, arrows that fall from the sky like rain; a duel in ruins, knifing Nasch in the gut and pulling sideways—

— and is sickened so fast he has to pillow his head on his hands until the dizzy spell passes and he can register the teacher yelling at him to wake up.

So this is what Tsukumo Yuuma has done to him, he thinks. Grow conscience in his mind like a tumor. The Astral Emissary's last gift.

At lunch break he sits down beside Yuuma like he always used to, but Nasch stands up the moment he does, and Yuuma looks desperately back and forth between them before jumping to his feet and chasing after Nasch.

The others are silent, and Tetsuo laughs uncertainly as Vector unwraps his lunch and tucks in like he really doesn't care. But his hands are shaking as he does it, and what he thought and did not say was, Yuuma should not have had to choose.

 

* * *

 

 

Vector experiments with the boundaries. Start small. Decaying rats in someone's desk. That's fine. Whoopee cushion. That's fine. The things that really hurt, though, aren't. Insulting someone's mother. That's fine. Insulting someone’s dead mother. That's not. Someone's eraser in the garbage, that's fine. The eraser of someone he knows can't afford another, that's not.

The Astral World's last gift — he'll be trained like a rat in a cage to know the difference between what's fine and what isn't.

Five hundred yen note from the rich kid's wallet. That's fine. Used tissues in a girl's purse. That's not. The boundary, Vector thinks, is lasting harm, but even so there are workarounds, and he keeps experimenting. It’s fine if: he doesn’t know the consequences, if he can make himself believe that there won’t be consequences, if the other party deserves it…

Until the day Michael Arclight makes a detour onto his aisle and tips onto his desk a small box wrapped in brown paper, unopened. He'd picked Thomas Arclight's combination lock earlier that day. (That had been fine.)

"It's lucky I got to it before my brother did, Shingetsu. He's not someone who appreciates this kind of gift..."

Michael Arclight is already walking away, leaving the classroom empty. Vector considers just leaving the box in someone else's desk instead. Then he walks over to the trashcan and tosses it in.

 

* * *

 

 

Vector slides open the drawer in his desk and picks up the knife, experimentally flicks it open. His mind remains clear. No crime without intent. He lets his mind slide over Nasch, Mizael, Durbe, Yuuma ( _—no—_ ), settles on the anticipation of pushing it between his own ribs instead.

For a moment, everything is fine. 

Then he's on the floor, and his right arm trapped under his own weight is devoid of feeling. He shakes his arm out and checks the clock. He can't have lost more than five minutes and if he leaves now he'll still make it to school on time.

He shoves the knife back under a pile of papers in the drawer, slams it shut with more force than necessary, and heads out the door.

 

* * *

 

Heartland Museum is free entry and opens late, which Vector appreciates when he doesn’t want to stay in school and doesn’t want to go back to the Kamishiro house. Although he thinks they’d get more business if they charged. People place more value on things they have to pay for.

Today he finds Michael Arclight perched on one of the benches near the stone slab exhibits, copying something from a large book onto notebook paper. At the approaching footsteps, he looks up. “Shingetsu?”

“Michael,” Vector acknowledges. "You're interested in history?"

"Yeah, actually. But mostly just writing a paper." Michael's eyes are searching his face for intent; Vector doesn't bother saying there's none. Easier to avoid an incident if he doesn't think about it. And someone like Michael Arclight isn't worth destroying. It's too easy, and there's no satisfaction in it. He looks down at the tome Michael has open: it's a book of myths of the Gorgonic monsters. “That looks hard to read.”

“Yeah, it’s all in old language so I don’t understand, but maybe Chris or someone will know—”

 _Eh._  “If you want, I can tell you the stories." And then cite the book anyway and nobody will be any the wiser.

"Would you really," Mihael replies.

 

* * *

 

Vector wakes up in the hospital with no memory of what put him there.

(Alright, he does remember: on the way home he’d tried to find out how much he can plan to hurt someone without actually hurting someone, and fallen badly and cracked his head on the pavement. The most convincing way to tell a lie, though, is to really believe it. So he doesn’t remember.)

The others visit, with the conspicuous absence of Nasch. Durbe brings food, Alit flowers, and Rio stays for two hours and updates him on everything going on back at the Kamishiro house.

Yuuma brings his homework, but bites his lip when Vector frowns at the math problems and asks if Yuuma has notes from class. (Vector honestly couldn't care less about the material, it's just that Ukyo-sensei had pulled him aside after class and told him he would have to repeat a year if he fails another test and Vector really doesn't care for getting left behind.)

Michael Arclight pays attention in class, so when he comes to visit Vector is ready. '—Can you explain this to me," Vector says after setting aside the get-well card Michael had brought. And Michael blinks, but pulls out a pencil and takes Vector through logarithms and the change-of-base rule. 

When Vector gets back to school he passes a math quiz for the first time all year, and no one is more surprised than he is.

 

* * *

 

Monday morning, Vector makes breakfast. 

Nasch and Merag had left early for a club meeting; he's glad. He doesn't think about what might have happened otherwise. 

Mizael enters the kitchen, the sleep instantly gone from his eyes as he notices Vector and the food on the table. He sits down and pokes at a piece of toast.

"Sorry for burning it," Vector tries.

The look Mizael gives him then, Vector thinks he's far more worried it's poisoned. He turns back to the stove to flip another piece of toast, and doesn't check the trash when Mizael leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

"I found you at the door," Michael says.

Vector probably had had a reason to come here, but either he doesn't remember or he's convinced himself he doesn't. Thomas Arclight is standing in the doorway, and the look on his face makes it completely clear that he doesn't appreciate having been made to carry Vector up the three flights of stairs to the Arclights' spare room. "I don't know what my brother wants with someone like you,  _Vector,_  but if you try anything, you won't even know you're dead."

Vector can't take that threat seriously, because someone like Thomas Arclight doesn't know the first of what it's like to take a life. And as for 'trying something', that's laughably simple to carry out—

He waits for the constriction in his chest, but it never comes. No crime without intent, he thinks. The Arclights' ceiling is high, paned with stained glass like a church cathedral.  _Forgive us our sins._ No crime without intent.

“—I have to go now,” Vector says.

Michael offers to see him to the door, and as they walk down the stairs together, footsteps echoing in the empty hall, Vector starts thinking about the best way to get back to Kamishiro mansion. It’s strange, but after spending so much time finding new ways to drag Tsukumo Yuuma through the sewers he’s confident he knows his way around Heartland City blind.

Michael pulls open the heavy double doors and then rubs at his eyes as the cool night air rushes in. Vector frowns. “It’s late, you don’t have to see me out. Get some rest.”

"I slept three months once, that's long enough," Michael replies. "You know, Shingetsu, the sins of the past— I think they're forgiven, not because they didn't happen, but because nobody remembers. The people are different now, they’re not the same people who did it before." He waits for Vector to tie up the shoes he'd found placed next to Thomas' boots on the rack outside the door. "You'll find your way all right, Shingetsu?"

"Yeah, I can get hom—" Vector thinks— "I can get back fine."

* * *

  

_Michael, why do you call me by that name?_

_I also have had another name. I, also, want to leave it behind._

 

* * *

 

The next evening Merag knocks on his door. "Hey, Vector."

He opens the door. "What is it, Rio?"

"Can I come in?"

Vector steps aside to let her pass. She looks over the room: sparse furnishings, windows cracked open to let out the heat, likely messier than it should be. He has no reason to keep things neat; no one’s ever in here but him. She eyes the pile of clothes on the desk chair and then sits on the bed instead.

“What is it,” Vector asks again, although he thinks he knows what’s coming.

"Vector, how are you doing?"

“Fine. And you?”

It's clear she doesn't believe him. “You were out late last night.”

“Yeah, so?”

"Vector, the others are getting worried."

—Don't you dare pity me. Anger, hot and sharp before it subsides. When it comes to Merag— no matter what he’s thinking, it’s not relevant. Only Merag’s feelings are. And those aren’t something for him to decide.

“Didn’t you hear me, I said everything is fine.”

"I’m not sure if you know this, Vector, but you’re important to us."

"Eh, Ryouga doesn't think so."

"Ryouga is an idiot." Her eyes don't leave his. "I wanted you to know that you belong here, Vector. With us."

“Is that all you wanted to say?”

“—Yes, it is. Good night, Vector.”

He doesn’t bother with a reply as he shuts the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Twenty days without incident.

At lunch break Vector sits down in the space Yuuma saved for him. Nasch glares, but doesn't move. Yuuma puts a hand on Nasch's arm, gives him a pleading look.

"Vector," Nasch bites out.

Those things did happen. History is not erased, and even so—

_—This is childish._

"Ryouga," Vector acknowledges with a nod, and surprisingly, there's no rancour in it.

 

* * *

 

Late night in the archives beneath Heartland Museum, the gorgons turned to myths in Michael’s history books. 

_They were real._

Vector used their power, and never bothered to learn what they are. Michael, on the other hand, treats them with reverence.

This is, too—

—No.

_They were real, once._

 

* * *

 

Nasch gets home from school at 5:30 on Thursday evenings and at 5:45 Vector has to steel himself to walk down the stairs into the living room. It’s nonsensical. "Ryouga."

“Mm?” Nasch doesn’t bother to glance up from where he’s texting or something.

“I have something to tell you.”

Nasch still doesn't look away from his phone. "You got thirty seconds. Spit it out."

“I wanted to say sorry about everything.”

"What,” Nasch’s voice is flat. “I didn't hear."

"I said, I'm sorry. I know it doesn’t change what happened, but I am. If you want me to die to prove it, that's fine too. But you'll have to do it because I can't.”

Vector stares at the back of Nasch’s head and thinks about Rio saying  _You are important to us_ , Yuuma’s pleading expression in the school courtyard. That day in the aether, Nasch had fought to keep the Barian Emperors by his side, Vector included in that.

Nasch has finally dropped the phone and turned to face him. "If you really mean it, then live," Nasch— _Ryouga_ —says eventually. "Live on knowing what you've done. That's punishment enough."

And Vector has to laugh at that because really, Ryouga doesn't know the half of it.

 

* * *

 

Late night in Heartland Academy's library, preparing for the yearly exams in two weeks' time, Vector looks over at Michael taking a nap break from maths exercises and decides that Michael is far too trusting. Michael knows who Vector is and what he's done, and he's still willing to fall asleep beside him, even though he knows that would be too easy for Vector to wrap his hands around the boy's neck and press in.

Vector waits for the blackout but it doesn't come.

It's not because there's no benefit in doing it. It's because he doesn't want to do it.

So the Astral Emissary won after all. Fine.

Michael isn't blazing sunlight, the way Tsukumo Yuuma is. Can't reach into someone's heart and take hold of it and change it. That's fine. That kind of light is a dangerous thing that has just as much power to burn as to warm.

This, on the other hand— is something Vector can hold in his hands, and keep safe.

Summer passed before any of them knew it, and now the leaves outside the library’s window are turning orange and brown and green. Like this, Michael Arclight dozing with his head pillowed on his hands and his hair sprawled out over the desk at Vector's side, afternoon light slanting harshly through the window and throwing his face into shadow.

Vector thinks, this—

_This is fine._

 

* * *

 

Sunset on Heartland City is the colour of blood or the peaceless souls in the Barian sky, and standing on the school roof overlooking all of it, Vector thinks he wouldn't mind, really. Set the world on fire and see Heartland City burn.

"Vector," Yuuma says, at his side.

It curdles in Vector's stomach, the knowledge of how much he owes Tsukumo Yuuma and will never be able to repay while he still lives. His memories, his redemption, his very existence, and the second chance he at once despises so much and knows he does not deserve.

Yuuma is forgiveness, hope, and unconditional love, and Vector thinks he wouldn't mind it if he never had to see him again.

 

* * *

 

 _Meet me on the school roof,_ Vector texts.  _There's something I want to show you_.

It’s ten minutes before Michael arrives; he goes over to Vector, keeping careful distance from the ledge where Vector’s sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. Vector thinks, he’s scared of heights, and smiles.

“Hey, Michael? One day, everything the sun touches will be ours.”

“—!?”

Anyone else would probably be concerned, but Vector really, really doesn’t care. He gets down from the ledge, hands Michael the other parachute and drags him to the edge of the roof.  "Michael, you trust me, right?"

" _No_ ," Michael replies emphatically. "Shingetsu, this is _insane_ —"

Vector steps off, and waits till he's reached terminal velocity to pull the string. Behind him Michael is screaming something he can't hear. The parachute opens to break his fall, and the wind that is rushing up to meet his face—really feels just like flying.

 

 

 

 


End file.
